


House Guest

by FalovesPa



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddly!Thorin, F/M, Falling In Love, falling in love with thorin, romantic!Thorin, who wouldn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:14:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalovesPa/pseuds/FalovesPa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During Thorin's time as a poor blacksmith, you offer him room, board and hot meals in exchange for him doing odd jobs around your home. But it isn't long before you realize you've fallen in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. House Guest

**Author's Note:**

> This is from an imagine on "Imaginexhobbit.tumblr.com"

The front door opened, and with it you heard the wind blowing through your small stone house, followed by feet stamping against the straw mat in the entryway.

Thorin was in your home again, apparently unsuccessful in his latest attempt to find a place of his own.

This pleased you to no end.

Ever since the brooding Dwarf led a large contingent of his people into the Blue Mountains, he had been so busy looking for work and getting everyone else settled and fed that he didn’t have time to look for a place to lay his own head.

When he was hired at the forge, right across from the trading post where you worked, you immediately saw how strong, skilled, and frankly, desperate he was. You had already asked every villager with the slightest hint of skill to help you with various home repairs on your 100 year old home, and now they ran every time they saw you coming. You knew you’d hit the jackpot with Thorin.

You offered your second bedroom and hot meals in exchange for some handy work around your home, and he accepted.

And that’s all you had intended. Really.

But over the last two months, you watched him work so hard to take care of his people and contemplate many heavy, unseen things – things that made him frown and skulk and look off into the distance – that you found yourself developing a great deal of empathy for him.

Then the feelings grew deeper.

At first, you thought it was just attraction. After all, he did have strapping good looks and a well-built body. You saw how the young ladies and even the older women of your village threw themselves at him, and you understood completely. If you were a little bolder, perhaps you would have, too.

But there was more to your feelings than the physical. You could see the anger and grief seeming to boil inside him, but you also saw a determination and compassion and a need that you had never seen in any male, ever. You admired that about him. You loved that about him.

And then one day, you finally admitted it to yourself: you loved him.

Oh, how you loved him.

You emerged from your bedroom in the back of the house. Although it was only early evening, you were already swaddled in a conservative long white nightgown. In your right hand, you held a lit votive candle. It wasn’t dark – the sinking sun let in brilliant shades of dragon fruit and tangerine through the windows — but you liked how the candlelight illuminated his rugged, handsome face.

“Staying another night, I see,” you said in a friendly tone as you entered the front room, watching him peel off his boots and place them on the side of the hearth.

“Yes, if I may,” he said, his voice gravelly and tired. He took a seat in one of the wooden spindle chairs and stretched his legs. “I traveled a little farther out this time, but the shacks I saw today looked like the same shacks I saw last week.”

“Stay as long as you wish,” you said brightly. Why did it sound like you were proposing marriage?

“You might regret that offer.” He took in the scent of the stew you had simmering in the big black pot over the fire. “Your delicious meals might make me stay past my welcome.”

Say something, you ordered myself. Don’t just stand there looking at him. Tell him he could never out-stay his welcome.

Before you had a chance to blow him away with something clever, or sexy, he asked, “what may I do for you this evening?”

That question never failed to make you weak in the knees.

“Well, my left front bed post is split pretty badly,” you said. “I know you’re not a carpenter, but maybe you could take a look? I fear it might break.”

Thorin stood up. “Show me,” he said.

You led him to the bedroom and pointed to the broken post. Thorin got down on his knees for a closer look, and you stood behind him, tracing the outline of his back and shoulder muscles pressing against his black shirt, and his tight, hard backside in his trousers.

He went around to each post – grunting, reaching mumbling, grabbing. Finally he stood back up, eye-to-eye with you.

“It’s actually two of the posts that are in need of repair,” he said grimly, as if that news would bother you. “But luckily these are easy fixes, and I can get the right tools from Bifur. Just give me an hour, perhaps less than that.”

“Ok,” you said.

He walked past you and out the back door. You decided to take a seat in the cozy front room and catch up on some reading. You placed the candle on the small table and tucked your legs up close to you.

He returned from his friend’s home in ten minutes with a handsaw and some smaller tools. He saw you sitting there, and looked disappointed.

“You didn’t have to leave the bedroom,” he said.

“I thought I’d be in the way,” you said. “It’s awfully tight in there.”

“You wouldn’t be in the way,” he insisted. “As a matter of fact, would you mind coming back and holding the candle nearby as I work?”

“Oh. Of course not,” you said, rising and tossing your book on the chair like it was so much garbage. You snatched the candle quickly, nearly extinguishing the flame.

You stood up and began walking toward him, stopping before entering the room, feeling as though your love for him was pouring out of your eyes.

You cleared your throat. “After you’re done,” you said, “would you join me for some stew?” You felt timid, but amazingly, the words came out strong.

“I’d like that,” he said.

Then he smiled – not big, not wide. But it was so rare and precious, it was enough to make you fall ridiculously more in love with him.


	2. Let Me Be Good to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After sharing a meal together, you unintentionally reveal your feelings to Thorin.

You sat in the spindle chair, he sat on a cushion on the floor, both of you staring into the fire, eating the stew and sipping burgundy wine from your mugs.

“It has a bite to it,” Thorin said after his first few chews of the meal.

You were about to take another mouthful but stopped and looked at him, alarmed. You forgot sometimes that just because you liked hot red pepper didn’t mean everyone else did.

“I’m sorry. I tend to like it on the spicy side.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, enthusiastically scooping more onto his spoon. “It’s delicious.”

You let out a sigh of relief and kept eating.

Thorin started asking you about other dishes you’d fixed and any unexpected ingredients you’d used. He asked where you learned to cook, what your favorite dishes were. He seemed genuinely interested in your background, and fixed his eyes into yours as you spoke. Sometimes, it was too intense; you found yourself looking away, fidgeting, drinking the wine, tending to the fire when it didn’t need tending.

When you were both finished eating and you told him most of your life story, you realized how late it was. You weren’t sure what time he needed to report to the forge, but you didn’t want to hinder him in any way.

“Well, I guess it’s time to –“ he began, standing up.

“ -- Yeah. I’ll take your bowl,” you said, reaching your hand out for it. You balanced the bowls and walked into the kitchen, placing them in the water-filled basin, while Thorin extinguished the fire.

He was soon behind you, handing you the empty mugs.

“So, the bedposts will hold up now?” you asked as you dipped the dishes into the water.

“Yes, they should be fine. But they are still quite old. I wouldn’t do a lot of bouncing.”

You laughed quietly as you washed out the first bowl. “No chance of that,” you mumbled.

Thorin walked from behind you to your side, where he could see your face.

“What do you mean?”

You dried the first bowl and spoon, not daring to look at him as you thought of the lame attention you’d once attracted from unworthy men, and a failed engagement that went down in unbelievable flames. “No bouncing goes on in there, that's all.”

Thorin took the bowl and spoon from you before you were done and set them down on the table. He placed his hand under your chin and made you look at him.

“I don’t believe such a kind and lovely maiden would have any trouble finding a willing and eager lover.”

You swallowed, and suddenly felt tears well up.

Thorin removed his hand. “I’m so sorry. That was not my place,” he said, backing up.

“It's OK,” you said, holding the tears back but still looking glassy-eyed.

“You’ve been very good to me. I did not wish to offend –“

“Thorin, I’m not offended. I’m just not used to hearing nice things like that. I’ve gained the reputation of being rather needy, with this rickety house and all. That’s all the villagers really know of me. A young lady and her old house.”

“There’s more to you than that,” he said quietly.

You could not bring yourself to look at him, fearing your eyes would scream your secret love - which was probably not so secret anymore.

“It feels a little chilly tonight," you said, changing the subject. "I’ll get you an extra blanket."

You scooted past him and into your room, where you looked for your softest comforter in the bottom of your dresser. You returned to the kitchen: he wasn't there. You quickly became breathless as you walked to his bedroom.

The door was open, and there he stood next to his bed, wearing only his trousers. His big, hairy chest and bulging arms were hard as stone. He walked over and stood before you at the threshold.

The comforter plunked to the ground.

“Sorry,” you said, your whole body trembling. You gathered the comforter and stood back up.

Red-faced, you handed him the comforter with lightning speed and were already walking off when he said, “thank you.” You waved and kept walking until you reached your room, slamming the door behind you.

You walked over to your chest of drawers and held onto the top of it for support as a dizzying feeling pounded you like a harsh ocean wave.

You didn’t know how much longer you would be able to take this. You didn’t want to act like a fool around him, and yet there you were, dropping comforters and scurrying away like a silly little rabbit.

Just as you wondered if you would ever get your breathing back down, there were two soft, pleading knocks on your door.

The dizzying feeling returned.

You took baby steps to the door, the room spinning around you. Grabbing the knob seemed to help steady you a bit. You held on to the round brass for a few seconds before turning it and pulling the door open.

His chest and arms and flowing hair and piercing eyes were before you again.

“You have been so good to me,” he said.

“Oh, Thorin…”

“Will you let me be good to you tonight?”

You felt his sandpaper hands cup your face and then in a whirlwind his lips were discovering yours, lightly biting and then sweetly pressing and licking. He tasted of the broth from the stew, all the spices, the burgundy wine, just a hint of tobacco, and so many lovely, earthy flavors. He broke the kiss to look into your eyes.

“Please let me be good to you."

He kissed your mouth again and nibbled your ear as he held onto you, walking forward as you walked back. You hit your chest of drawers, knocking over all your little trinkets. They crashed like bells, and as the tolls reverberated, the kisses became stronger, harder, bolder.

He moved his hands to your waist and guided you toward the bed, where he sat on the edge, and you stood before him.

You shuddered from excitement, from love, from anticipation, and then a single joyful tear fell. He wiped it from your cheek with his thumb, then pulled you to him, pelting your face with soft, loving kisses again.

“Don't cry," he said. "I'm going to be so good to you…”


	3. If Only For One Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actions speak louder than words. Thorin and reader consummate their love, but hold back from fully admitting the depth of their feelings. **added chapter**

Standing before Thorin and leaning in low, your arms around his shoulders, you willingly and happily drowned in his kiss as he sat on the edge of the bed, his hands circling your waist and holding you to his taut body.

His skin and yours were lightly misted with perspiration, a powerful aphrodisiac. His lips dotted your jawline, your neck, gently glided across your collarbone as his hands deftly made their way from just above your glorious hips to the ties of your dowdy night gown. You rested your hands on his shoulders and sat up straight, giving him better access.

But before making another move, his eyes fixed on yours.

“Do you have any doubts, my lady?” he said. 

Your fevered anticipation mingled with surprise and disappointment that Thorin didn’t already know your answer was a resounding no. 

But when you realized that, in making absolutely positive that this was what you desired, Thorin was treating you with more respect than anyone you had ever met, tears filled your eyes again.

“I have no doubts.” Your whispered voice broke. 

With slow pulls he began to coax the ties loose. When he finished, you started gathering the material to lift it over your head, but Thorin was already sliding his hands across your shoulders, under the sleeves, pushing the material away. The too-big gown obeyed his command along with a slight shoulder roll from you. It floated to the floor, pooling at your feet.

Thorin swallowed hard and took in the sight of the curves of your plump breasts, the softness around your middle, your strong thighs. 

All at once a flash of self-consciousness, accompanied by the sharp, stern voices of Tradition, Logic, and Reason, echoed through your mind, trying to conjure the doubt you had just denied.

_He does odd jobs for you in exchange for room and board. This is his guilt for not being able to do more. He’s not promised you a future, no marriage, yet he dares to enjoy this privileged intimacy, as if you are wed. He does not feel for you what you feel for him._

These were familiar voices, comforting most of the time. All your adult life, you had never been ashamed to follow Tradition, Logic and Reason. They grounded you, kept you from making mistakes. But at that moment, a ne’er-before-felt defiance took over you, followed by another strong voice.

_I know it’s not proper. I know it’s probably foolish. But I will have him, even without a promise. He is finally mine, if only for now - don’t you see? And I have been his since I laid eyes on him. I know what people will say if they find out. But please let me be. Let me have Thorin Oakenshield, if only for one night._

It was Love talking, Love that gave you new strength and hope. 

You smiled down at Thorin as he beheld your nudity in wonder.

“Beautiful,” he said, grazing his fingertips from one thigh to the other. 

Though he was eager to bring his lips to the firm nipples that so obviously ached for him, Thorin wanted to look at you for another little while in the silver-white moonlight coming through the bedroom window and in the golden flicker of the single thick candle on the dresser. 

Earlier that evening the flame lit his way around the bed as he fixed your splintered wooden posts. Now it lit his way to heaven.

It took Thorin a moment to believe he was truly there, looking at your bare body so closely. For months he had forced himself to turn away when you revealed the slightest hint of uncovered skin below your neckline. His heart would pound every day when he caught a glimpse of your curvy profile. 

She deserves a true king, he told himself. She should want for nothing. 

And now you were there, naked, wanting only him.

You whimpered as he moved his hands slowly around each breast, holding them softly but assuredly in his great hands, igniting a fire in your chest and releasing a dam below. Your breathing picked up wildly, but when your eyes locked with his you held it in anticipation, only exhaling when his lips claimed your right nipple, sliding his tongue around it and moaning softly before moving to the other and giving it the same luscious attention. 

You leaned your head back, reveling in the feel of his lips around you, and groaned from the stimulation as his hands returned to your waist to steady you. Your small sounds grew louder from his fervent sucks and licks. Gradually, he lowered his right hand between your quivering thighs, inching toward your wet core.

Burying your fingers in his long hair, you alternated between sighing and gasping. You let out a low whine when he stopped his ministrations on your legs to suck on you harder, torturing you.

It was too much. Crying his name and bucking your hips, you begged him to touch you. His fingers at last began to firmly stroke your slippery folds and that magical spot, sending a violent shudder through your body and another ragged sound from your throat.

Thorin moaned and murmured against your glistening skin, each brush of his tongue becoming more ardent. He slipped a finger inside you while his thumb stayed attentive to your sodden pearl, steadily bringing you closer to your climax.

You had to look at him now, to pair the pleasure he was giving your body with the rugged beauty that was so easy on your eyes. You unwound your hands from his hair, splayed your fingers onto his broad shoulders, and rolled your hips in long waves against his fingers while breathlessly watching him worship your breasts. 

He knew you were close. As soon as he turned his face up to yours, you crashed your mouth against his, tongues flicking and darting. Hums of pleasure spilled from you both during your strong, shuddering release. You fell against him, both of you holding onto each other for dear life.

Thorin’s legs parted as he held you, and without a second thought you reached your hand between his loosely cinched waistband and his skin, following the hairy trail to his long, thick shaft.

His sustained growl echoed throughout the tiny room as you caressed and rubbed his length and girth, dying to feel him inside you. Sensing your desire, he tugged at the sides of his trousers, barely lifted his hips from the bed, and wriggled free. The pants joined the forgotten granny gown.

Your core twitching from the orgasm and the sight of him fully nude, you immediately knelt before him, rested your hands on his knees and began kissing his tip. Soon you were mimicking the loving focus he’d given your breasts, tasting the slick salt of him.

_Whatever you want, my love, my blacksmith, my very own prince…_

As if he heard you, Thorin gently pressed his palms to the front of your shoulders, and pushed you back. He placed his index finger under your chin until you looked up at him, just as he had in the kitchen.

“The pleasure should be all yours,” he said.

Your lips parted and you searched his face, wondering and worrying about what he was thinking. Was he changing his mind about making love? Were Tradition, Logic and Reason speaking to him, too? Had they convinced him this was unwise?

“It should be yours as well, Thorin.”

For the first time since the torrid kiss, he looked at you timidly.

“You don’t have to do this. And I don’t have to finish, for myself. I only want to be good to you.”

“But I want you to finish. I want all of this, all of you,” you said, swallowing, feeling your own sheepishness creep across your face. 

“You’ve shown me every kindness and consideration. I should do the same.”

He started to blink a few times, his expression now sorrowful. Your heart and pride plummeted. _He doesn’t want to go through with it! He doesn’t know how to tell me without being cruel._

“I see. A change of heart.” Your voice shook as you nodded and picked up your gown.

Thorin’s eyes widened, and he pulled the fabric from your grasp, dropping it back to the floor.

“My lady, that is not the matter at all.” He sighed. “This is a small village. There are expectations here, cherished customs.” _Customs I cannot partake in, because I have nothing to offer you as a proper husband - the husband you deserve._ He kept that admission to himself.

“I would never dream of dishonoring you,” Thorin went on. “I’ve heard people whispering about our arrangement. If we were to make a child…”

His voice trailed off, and you blew out a long, heavy, breath. So _that’s_ what he was afraid of. 

“Thorin, I don’t think Mahal allowed that possibility between us.”

Thorin swallowed and looked past you, his expression still wistful. 

You wondered again what he was thinking, even as your own thoughts went to places you hadn’t visited in a long time. Following your failed engagement, you’d put images of becoming a mother out of your mind, especially since your betrothed had already made that happen with his secret lover in the next village. After that, the idea of starting a family left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Now, though, the idea of Thorin fathering your child suddenly made you even wetter for him. 

Thorin looked back at you and formed a small, sexy smile, once again sensing your desire and returning the mood to its previous heat. He wrapped his hands around yours and guided you back onto your feet. Taking you by your waist, he pulled you into his lap, raising your legs to straddle him, and covered your mouth in passionate kisses. 

You lifted your hips to sink onto the soldier at attention between his legs, but before you could lower, Thorin cradled you in his arms, scooted aside, and carefully rested your back on the bed, your head against the pillow. He crawled up and hovered over your chest, arms outstretched on either side of you.

“What may I do for you this evening, my lady?” he asked, leaning down and kissing you between your breasts.

Your plea was incomplete, coming out in a soft sob. “Taste…”

He needed no other instruction. Thorin showered you with fast, wet kisses down the length of your torso and across your left hip, easing his pace when he reached your parted thighs. 

He kissed and licked the warm skin there, moving with agonizing slowness toward to your soaked, fragrant center, teasing you with playful nips along the path. You exclaimed your pleasure at his taunts with sharp, short inhales and drawn-out exhales.

_I love you,_ you mouthed, mindful to arch your neck so he couldn’t see you say it. _I love you so very much, Thorin._

The silent words hit the ceiling and fluttered down to you like rose petals, blanketing you both as his hands gripped your hips and his mouth heeded your command at last. You responded with long, slow rolls of your hips and pitched whimpers.

Your hands flailed over your head, fists pressing into the pillow. They slid down to cup your breasts, reached for his hair, bolted onto his forearms to pull him closer, spread out to grip the sides of the mattress, the repaired bedposts.

For a split second you didn’t care if he saw the words forming, or if they came to life with sound.

_But what if he stops again?_ The unbearable thought tiptoed through your mind. 

So you whispered your confession so low that you could barely hear it yourself. He was loving you with his tongue and lips so intensely that you reached your climax hard and fast with a deafening cry.

Tremor after tremor pumped through your body. You couldn’t recover quickly; you didn’t want to. Even after Thorin mounted you and slowly entered you, the aftershocks lingered. You hugged him to you, bringing him deeper. You rocked with him to a staggered rhythm at first, thrilled to finally have him inside you. As he kissed your lips with abandon, leaving traces of your essence on your lips, your movements became more fluid and seamless together.

He tossed his head back and groaned loudly, rattling the scant framed drawings on the adjoining wall. Watching his expressions and hearing him rumble with satisfaction, knowing it was because of you, sent another charge of exhilaration through you.

Thorin’s speed increased, striking your core over and over until you were weeping through your next fierce orgasm. He was right behind you, calling your name, wiping your tears and grunting, his body surging like the tide, ignoring his earlier warnings about the fragile bedposts.

With one last plunge and roar, he stiffened, his breathing hard and rushed as he filled you. The adoration in your eyes shone on his skin. 

_I wish this were our wedding night,_ Love crooned inside your thoughts.

_It should be,_ snapped Tradition, sounding alarmingly like your grandmother.

_It will never be,_ Logic and Reason chimed in unison.

You turned the voices off as Thorin slid out of you, completely spent. 

Resting beside you, his cheek to the long pillow, he looked at your radiant face with tenderness. Your breathing was already regular again, and in an effort to bring him the same calm, you ran your fingers soothingly through his silky, sweat-drenched strands, along the intricate pretty bead securing one of his long braids, and across his broad shoulders, massaging him.

Thorin moaned with contentment and brushed the edge of your cheek with his index finger, his blue eyes set on yours as his chest slowed its rapid rising and falling.

At the exactly the same time, you smiled shyly at each other.

This was it: the perfect opportunity to say the three words out loud. You were holding a loving gaze, your hands were on each other, you were in the afterglow of becoming one for the very first time. A moment so ideal only came round once in a lifetime.

“I -" Thorin began softly, but you leaped in before he finished.

"You have earned a reprieve on paying your rent this month, good sir,” you said.

Thorin chuckled, placed his hand behind your neck and leaned in, giving you a long kiss.

“No reprieves,” he said, breaking contact before he could become breathless again. He touched his forehead to yours. “I am nothing if not a good tenant.”

You shook your head. “No. There’s more to you than that.” You repeated the words he’d told you in the kitchen earlier, where the first signs of the night to come began to unfold. 

Thorin landed an appreciative peck on the bridge of your nose, then snuggled his cheek back into the downy pillow. He kept his hand at the nape of your neck, stroking the fine hairs there, and his eyelids grew heavy.

On impulse, you began to hum an Elvish melody you heard when you were a young girl traveling near Lothlorien’s borders with your parents. You never took the time to learn the foreign words, but you always remembered the translation. The singer was imploring her lover to rest, and that she would soon meet him in his dreams. _Rest, my love,_ the singer called so beautifully. _Rest._

Within seconds, Thorin’s eyes were closed. He snored deeply but softly, his arm still draped across you but no longer brushing your fine hairs. 

Feeling your own sleepiness coming on strong, you finished humming the song and kept one hand against his chest to feel his heartbeat. Your other arm slipped under the shared pillow. You were almost there…

Thorin suddenly stirred and mumbled something in his sleep, something in an unfamiliar language. He said it a few times, a long word that ended with what sounded to you like “may.” Each utterance became less audible as he slipped back into slumber.

You reached out and ran your finger across his bearded chin.

“Rest, Thorin,” you whispered, shutting your eyes. “Rest.”


	4. The Secrets Are Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions are made after a passionate night.

You awoke to the slow trace of fingers along the back of your arm, and Thorin’s tongue swirling small wet circles on your shoulder. He lay behind you, warm, strong, content, aroused. The smile on your lips seemed to have been there for hours, days…years. He made you forget anything you did before he knocked on your bedroom door.

“Let me see your face,” he whispered in your ear, continuing to caress your arm.

You turned on your back and there he was, his face brightened by the early morning sunlight streaming through your window.

“Better?” you asked.

“Perfect,” he said. “And beautiful.”

Your smile grew bigger. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

“Cry?” He leaned in and kissed your neck. “Or cry out — again?”

As his lips tasted your skin you felt your body ache with need. His hand wandered up and down your torso, fingers light and soft.

You couldn’t hold back anymore.

“I must confess something,” you said.

He stopped his sweet assault and looked at you. “Tell me.”

You lifted your hand to his cheek and beckoned him closer, until your lips were close to his ear - because looking into his eyes as you told him you loved him would be the death of you.

“I love you, Thorin Oakenshield, more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life, and I always will.”

He moved his head back and faced you again.

He was perfectly still, and his breathing slowed. You weren’t sure what to make of his silence.

“I’m not upset if you don’t feel the same,” you said.

There was something in his eyes – a mix of surprise and regret and confusion.

“Have I not been obvious?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“Then I have a secret as well,” he said, smoothing your hair near your temple.

“Tell me.”

Thorin brought his face closer to you until his lips brushed against your earlobe. “When I looked for other places to stay, I tried to imagine you not being there to greet me. You, _amralime,_ my love, made me feel welcome and warm. I could have left here long ago. But I could not bear it.”

He kissed the top of your head, then he moved lower, to the tip of your nose, and said it again: “I could not bear it.”

He drifted lower still, until he was on your mouth, holding you to him fiercely, as if you would suddenly disappear from his grasp.

"I love you,my queen," he said in your ear.

You shuddered in his arms, feeling so much happiness you thought you'd burst. Thorin pulled away from the embrace to look at you, and he said your name, followed by that lovely word, _amralime_ \- the same word you'd heard him say in his sleep. You heard it as a song. 

"Everything changes now," you said, your hand going through his wavy locks.

Thorin smiled. "If we loved each other before sharing this bed, nothing changes. Only the secrets are out. And maybe you won't get as much sleep as before."

"Gladly."

Without warning, Thorin's smiling face turned serious. Here was another perfect moment to say what was on his mind and heart. He no longer saw himself as unworthy to be your husband - a royal heir with no crown and no home. You were his crown; this was his home. He saw his life without you, and his heart ached at the thought. 

"Will you marry me?" he asked, cupping your face and looking deeply into your eyes in that way that made you melt.

You released a long, shaking breath. Underneath the covers, you pinched your thigh hard, to make sure you weren't dreaming. Suddenly the room and Thorin's image were topsy-turvy, and you realized it was because you were nodding so vigorously. You smiled until your mouth ached, but you couldn't stop.

"I thought you'd never ask."

And then you kissed him again, more intensely this time, unleashing for both of you a thirst that could only be quenched with fire.


	5. Anything for the Rightful King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin has returned to you after the fruitless search for Thrain with something heavy on his mind: reclaiming his homeland. An old acquaintance offers help in making the dream come true.

“Why are you so tired all the time?”

Your boss, Kara, asked the question before you finished your first big, noisy yawn of the morning. Your back was to her as you stocked the shelves and you smiled to yourself but didn’t answer.

“It’s that boarder keeping you up, isn’t it?” 

You whipped around, nearly falling off the ladder. “What?”

“I’ve heard these Dwarves’ loud merrymaking! All that singing and carrying on! That’s what’s stealing your sleep, isn’t it?”

Your big smile was now hurting your face. “Uh…yeah. He’s loud all right.”

It was true, Thorin hadn’t given you much rest since he returned from looking for his father, and in all fairness, you hadn't let him alone, either. Being without him, even though he had promised to return, was torture. You realized that it wasn't happiness you had with Thorin; it was life. You knew love, inside and out. You knew devotion, care, friendship, passion. He was all you needed. 

But you couldn't deny that something was weighing heavilyy on his mind – something besides the disappointing, fruitless journey. 

Without divulging any details, he told you that he'd had a "thought-provoking" conversation with a wizard named Gandalf about his homeland. You also knew that he’d met with the other Dwarves a few times since his return, but that was about it. Whatever was brewing in his mind, he would tell you when he was good and ready.

But every now and again, you would catch him looking at you so intensely, as if into your soul. Just when you thought that was the time he would say what had been burdening him, he would gather you in his arms, and hold you throughout the night.

“Well, you need to look alive, sweetheart. That buyer is touring the rest of the village today and might stop in again. Maybe today’s the day he’ll finally take this place off my hands!”

Aw, yes, Brian – er, Boris – no, Bryn! You could never remember his name, but he was a fine fellow, for a silk trader. Rich but humble, he was ready to pass the traveling side of the business to his brother and settle in the village, maybe buy half of it just to keep himself occupied. He’d been coming by the trading post every day for a week to discuss the purchasing details with Kara, but always ended up striking up a conversation with you. He was very courteous, funny, and seemed to really like your company, Kara teased. You shrugged it off. It didn’t matter to you if every man in town adored you; it would never compare to being loved by Thorin.

“There he is!” Kara gasped, pointing at the balding, well-dressed man with a pleasant face strolling into the forge. 

You wondered what Thorin would make of him.

********

The blacksmith was in the middle of hammering a piece of metal, his mind so fixed on something other than his work that he drowned out everything else, even the person repeatedly clearing throat.

Gandalf’s admonition to take back the Lonely Mountain haunted him. The Arkenstone, the plethora of fine gems, the gold, haunted him. The fact that he could not give you any of it…haunted him. 

Before Thorin went looking for Thrain, you talked about your future together - your impending marriage and the fact that you would likely not have children together. As many times as you had made love, he never withdrew, and you never became pregnant. You were convinced of your assumption that Mahal did not intend for a woman born of men and a Dwarf could not procreate.

Thorin was silent for most of the talk before your fireplace as you proposed taking in children from an orphanage near Lindon someday. They had lost their parents to war or illness, and you knew that you and Thorin could give them a good life.

"I think that is a wonderful idea," he finally said, smiling. You breathed out a sigh as he scooted closer.

"But you must know," he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, "I will happily keep trying to put a babe in your belly, in addition to the children we will love and bring into this home." He nibbled your ear.

"Mmm," you moaned, blushing. "How about now?"

That evening, you cut supper short to feast on each other.

Whenever you talked about the wedding, you both were content with a simple ceremony, a simple celebration. You set a vague date of the following summer.

But now, the thought of giving you something more fabulous – to show you how a Queen should be treated – consumed him. But he wasn’t even sure if the quest, which he still didn't discuss at length with you, would succeed. Like the search for Thrain, it could be fruitless. But one thing was certain: he could not return to you penniless again. He was adamant about that. 

Something snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked up to see a man with a pleasantly plump face and receding dark hair standing before him. The stranger’s eyes and mouth opened wide.

“Prince Thorin?”

Thorin frowned. He had not been addressed that way in quite some time.

“How do you know me?”

“Prince Thorin, it’s me – Bryn, the silk trader out of Dale! My family sold fabrics and furs to King Thror for years!”

Thorin put down his hammer and stared at the follicle-challenged man, familiarity filling his memory. 

“Yes, I remember you. What happened to all your hair?"” 

Bryn just laughed and approached Thorin for a warm embrace, which he was not expecting. 

The trader went on to tell Thorin how glad he was to see him, how he’d been traveling with his father and brother when Smaug attacked, how his mother and sisters had perished, how he was winding down his day-to-day involvement in the business. He wanted a quieter life.

Thorin filled him in on the Battle of Azanulbizar, the death of Frerin and Thror, his new life in this mountain village, and how much better things had become since you came into his life.

“You mean the lovely lass who works at the trading post?” Bryn asked, his voice perking up.

Thorin caught the look on the silk trader’s face.

“In another life, she would be my Queen,” Thorin said unabashedly.

“Oh. I see.” Bryn took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. 

Bryn had not planned on lingering at the forge, but he could not pass up speaking with the heir to the throne of Erebor. They continued to talk late into the evening, even as Thorin resumed his work. His boss was tending to family matters that day but Thorin didn’t want to take advantage of the unsupervised time. 

He skirted around a question that nagged at him until he saw you close up the trading post. You looked in curiously but headed for home, feeling intuitively like you’d be a fifth wheel if you joined the conversation.

As soon as you were out of sight, Thorin put down his tools and walked over to Bryn.

“May I ask your help with something?”

Bryn’s face brightened. “Anything for the rightful King!”

Thorin swallowed his pride. He told Bryn that he needed to tend to some unfinished business in the Misty Mountains and that his quest would likely keep him occupied for some time. He didn't mention Smaug, or reclaiming Erebor; details could endanger the mission. 

“Do you need me to join you?” Bryn asked, falling for the vague explanation. 

“No. But my trip requires more funding than I currently have.”

Bryn smiled. “I would be happy to help. Money, ponies, clothing, weapons – whatever you need.”

Thorin smiled and felt great relief at Bryn’s willingness to help him, followed by the awful thought of leaving you behind.


	6. A Dream...A Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin shares his plans to leave Ered Luin -- and leave you.

You were still awake and waiting for Thorin in your bedroom when he came in close to 10 p.m. You heard him go through his nightly ritual of stamping his boots and placing them by the  
hearth. Twelve hard steps down the corridor and he was at the door.

“I love seeing you standing there,” you said.

“I love seeing you lying there,” he answered. He looked so very tired.

“What may I do for you this evening, my lady?”

You loved that he still asked you that, every night without fail. But you didn’t respond with home repair requests anymore. 

“Come rest, my love.”

He came over without hesitation, shedding his shirt along the way, because he knew how much you loved his bare chest on your skin. 

You shivered with delight as he held you in his arms, face to face with you.

“I see you met Boris,” you said after several minutes of snuggling and gazing in each other’s eyes. “Looks like he’s planning to buy the whole village.”

He kissed your nose and chuckled softly. “You mean Bryn. Yes, I actually knew him from…before I came here.” He looked distant.

“Well, he seems very nice.” You cuddled in closer.

Thorin had not planned on discussing the quest with you this late at night, but the contentment on your face broke his heart. 

And then he just blurted it out.

“My darling, I am going.”

Your first thought was, ‘Going where?” but you could see he was about to tell you.

As you listened to him talk about some loose ends he needed to tie up near his homeland, Thorin watched your expression go from interested to worried, but not distressed. You blinked long and hard several times, then said, "Well, I'll have to give Kara some notice, but just tell me what I need to do to get us on the road."

Thorin held his breath. He didn't have the heart to correct you. But picking up on his silence, you figured it out on your own.

"Wait -- you said YOU were going, not WE are going."

He nodded once. 

You began to hyperventilate. "But...you can't leave without me! We were just starting to…” Build a life together, you thought.

A dream.

“I know. But this is something I must do with my people."

“Thorin, don't ask me to live without you. Take me with you!"

“Absolutely not. The places I must travel through, it's too dangerous. I cannot risk it.”

“I won’t be a burden, I promise.” The tears began to roll in torrents, and you let them, not caring how you looked or sounded. “I can look after myself just as well as anyone else can.”

“You must stay here.”

You knew that talking him into exposing you to danger would be impossible. Thorin loved you with a fierce, protective love -- of this, you were sure. 

“Well, will you send for me, then?" you asked desperately. "After your business dealings are done?”

“It is a long journey. I am sure you will have moved on by then.”

You were hurt that he thought you could just pick up where the love you shared left off. “You’re the love of my life. I will wait for you!”

He sighed and stayed silent for as long as he could. 

"I do not plan to return," he said. 

He held you gently to him and steadied your body as your sobs shook you. “I have nothing more than my heart to offer you. You deserve more - so much more,” he said.

It took you several seconds to catch your breath. You pulled away and faced him. “That is all I need, Thorin. I just need you.”

He wiped your tears and fought back his own. 

"I'm not all you want, am I?" you asked, already knowing the answer.

He swallowed and looked away, unable to watch the hurt consume your face.


	7. No Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wake up to find the love of your life gone, and a promise waiting.

You didn’t go to work the next day and didn’t care if you were fired because of it. Thorin brought you bread and warm milk for breakfast, but you turned away, feeling no appetite whatsoever, still trying to process the previous night’s conversation through your despair.

Thorin had little to say. He kissed your forehead and promised to return in a little while. He went to the forge owner’s home, where he announced his upcoming departure. The man took it hard; Thorin was the best blacksmith he’d ever hired.

Then he went to the forge to collect his things. Bryn was there waiting for him, and could see that Thorin had had a rough night. His thoughts automatically went to you, hoping you were coping as well as you could.

“Will you look after her?” Thorin asked as he packed his tools.

“She doesn’t seem like the type who needs looking after.”

“You know what I mean. She must want for absolutely nothing.”

“Of course – well, except for you, Prince Thorin.”

He looked out at the villagers passing by and stayed silent for a moment. 

“Do you have a wife, Bryn?” Thorin asked at last.

He shook his head. “No. The constant travel of our family business did not bode well for a lasting relationship. But I was hoping to settle down now that my brother is taking over.”

Thorin raised his eyebrows and Bryn immediately knew what he was getting at.

“No, no, no!” Bryn said adamantly.

“You will never find a more perfect woman. And I have seen how you come to life when I mention her.” 

“Yes, but she is in love with YOU!” Bryn didn't even try to deny that he found you beautiful, inside and out. 

“I need to know that she will love again.”

Bryn sighed. “I cannot promise that, my lord.”

“Then promise me you will comfort her.”

They talked for several minutes more, with Thorin trying to convince Bryn that you could love him. He remained skeptical, but he eventually shook hands with Thorin and vowed to care for you as much as you would allow him to.

You were still in bed when Thorin returned home that night. 

He joined you just as he had the night before, wrapping a strong arm around your waist and pulling you against his warm chest. You turned your body around and met his mouth in a feverish succession of kisses, pleading one last time, “Don’t go.”

He didn’t answer. He returned the fervent kisses as he painted your portrait over and over in his mind, so he would never forget it. You soon drifted off, feeling safe, loved, and distraught, all at once.

As he stroked your hair and watched you sleep, he whispered, “Please understand.”

*****

When you awoke at dawn, Thorin was gone.

Bryn stood at your doorway, gazing at your bewildered, grief-stricken face.

You sat up and looked around, trying to reconcile the truth in your heart. You dangled your legs over the side of the bed and cried loudly into your open hands.

“He couldn’t say goodbye?”

Bryn looked down at his shoes for a moment, then faced you again. “He said he could not bear it.”

You heard that before: He couldn't bear not to have you greet him. And he also couldn't bear to say goodbye. 

You felt yourself grow faint. Bryn rushed over and caught you as you collapsed into his arms.

“Oh, my dear lady,” he said, crying with you, “I know your heart is shattered, and I know you will always love him. But please know I am here for you, and I will be until my dying day.”

You didn’t completely hear him at that moment. Didn’t want to hear him. 

******

Bryn made good on his promise to Thorin. He saw you through every stage of grief from the prince's departure, loving you a little bit more every day, never pressuring you, always supporting you.

Several months later, you were outside having a late afternoon picnic in fair weather - it was too difficult dining inside, where you'd shared so many meals with Thorin - when Bryn asked for your hand in marriage. Sitting across from him, with the emerging twinkling stars as your witness, you accepted, and although your smile was small, it was sincere. 

Bryn simply beamed. He shoved the picnic basket between you aside and pulled you to him in a warm embrace, delightfully surprised by your answer. But his joy was tempered with the knowledge that Thorin would always be in your heart.

"Please don't think I am insensitive, my lady. I would never expect you to love me the way you love-" Bryn began, releasing you. Shaking your head, you pressed your index finger gently to his lips, stopping him from uttering the name. 

"Please don't say it," you begged. Your eyes filled with tears, but you willed them away.

Bryn nodded as you lifted your finger from his mouth. He understood; he would not bring Thorin up again unless there was news of him, or unless you asked.

You didn't want much time to pass before the wedding. Bryn's proposal kick-started your life. You knew you needed to keep moving, or you would find yourself in bed again, in mourning. You just couldn't go back to that.

A month later, the happy affair, showered in your favorite colors and lots of smiles, took place in the village square. At your insistence, both of you wrote your own, short vows, tossing Tradition to the curb.

"Bryn, you have given me new life and new hope," you said, your voice soaring confidently, reciting from memory. You knew the next lines - _I thank the Valar for bringing you to me_ \- but something unexpected veered you off course.

In the blink of an eye, Bryn's plump, kind face became Thorin's.

"There's more to you..." you whispered. You swallowed back the rest, your heart breaking as if you were back to that cruel dawn when you woke to find Thorin gone.

Bryn's image returned. He was still smiling, waiting for you to continue.

You had to improvise. "There's more to you than meets the eye, and I thank the Valar for showing me all that you are."

Bryn was so moved that he lowered his head and held his hand up, signaling that he needed a moment to compose himself. When he looked up again, tears streamed down his face.

"I have been taken with you since the moment I met you - your charm, your wit, your tenderness, your strength. I will love you always. You mean everything to me." 

You, too, needed a few seconds to get yourself together. Bryn's words were beautiful, succinct, and true. You knew there was nothing in the world he wouldn't do for you.

The friar said a few more formal words, then pronounced husband and wife. You exchanged a kiss, and turned around to smile to the cheering crowd. The feast lasted all day and into the wee hours.

As one of many wedding gifts, Bryn had a glorious garden planted on your property and brought in a crew to repair every inch of your little home. You even helped them repaint the rooms and build new furniture - everything but your old bed. Although you couldn't stand to be in it any longer, you couldn't give it away or replace it. Instead, you shared the guest room with your new husband, where Thorin had slept for months before making love to you in yours. It was strange, being in that bed where your dream lover once lay his head, but bearable in Bryn's loving arms.

That bed was where you discovered that Bryn was not only a kind soul, but an eager-to-please lover. Vastly different from Thorin's intense, focused lovemaking, intimacy with Bryn was more serene, in a way. It was hard to describe.

The guest bed was also where - as well as you could figure from your calculations - you conceived your son on your wedding night.

Bryn was over the moon happy. You thought he'd never stop smiling and making plans. He talked about the baby all day, and he would get misty as he crouched before you and sang to the child in your growing belly.

Bryn's elation was infectious. Any trepidation you had about becoming a mother was taken away just by looking at your joyous man. But invariably your thoughts would drift to Thorin, and his promise to happily keep trying to make a child with you. You stopped feeling guilty about wishing for that child. Your love for Thorin was real; it always would be, and you weren't going to make yourself feel bad about that any more.

Bryn had a bigger home built adjacent to the stone house, one that was just right for you, little Bryn, and the three-year-old twin girls the two of you adopted from the orphanage four months before the baby's arrival. With or without Thorin, that was a promise you wanted to see through, and Bryn was 100 percent supportive of the idea. He didn't even want to wait. The stone house that had been the stage for so much passion became a lovely guest house and the girls' roomy playhouse while you nursed the baby or tended the garden.

Things were very good. Bryn was loving, gentle, and generous, and your children brought you endless smiles. Little Bryn - with the round cheeks and nose he inherited from his father, and the hair color and mouth he got from you - slept well from the very beginning. The brown-haired girls, though small, were always willing to help you and Bryn around the house and garden. It took only one of Bryn's goofy faces to have all the children laughing until they got breathless. You never grew tired of hearing the trills of their laughter.

When word arrived about the Battle of the Five Armies, and Thorin’s resulting death, your first reaction wasn't to cry. You'd been so happy with your growing family, it was actually hard to remember the sadness of loss.

Bryn urged you to take a walk with him, to talk it out. Though he never talked about Thorin for fear of upsetting you, he always honored your love for him. He knew it was real and undying. And being the amazing person he was, he respected that.

You thanked him for his offer, but you preferred to be alone. You hugged him, gave a kiss to your sleeping babe in his cradle, and tucked the girls in bed before retreating to the little stone house.

You wanted to know if the memories still lived.

Your mind traveled back to the night Thorin fixed your bedposts, to the conversation over the stew, to your first night together, to all the other wonderful days and nights together, how sometimes he would just look at you and tell you how beautiful you were, and that you were his Queen.

For the first time in what felt like ages, you lay down on your old bed and closed your eyes tight. You heard his voice, and even in the darkness behind your eyelids, you saw him standing in the doorway -strong, loving, living. 

And as you buried your face in the pillow and twisted the sheets in your trembling hands, you heard him ask the question he asked you every night. 

“What may I do for you this evening, my lady?”

You lifted your head and lay your wet cheek on the pillow.

"Rest, Thorin," you whispered, shutting your eyes. "Rest." 


	8. ALTERNATE ENDING: What May I Do For You This Evening, My King?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Ending: You have moved on with your life when news of Thorin's gold sickness arrives, and an opportunity opens up to see -- and help -- the love of your life again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lovely Tumblr follower requested a happier ending. The person didn't want Bryn included, but he serves a purpose, so I kept him in here (very briefly). I hope you enjoy.

Bryn made good on his promise to Thorin. He saw you through every stage of grief from the prince's departure, loving you a little bit more every day, never pressuring you, always supporting you. He eventually asked for your hand in marriage, and you accepted.

You knew Thorin would have wanted you to find happiness with him. He did tell you to move on, after all, and that’s exactly what you intended to do. Thanks to reports from Bryn's customers in Esgaroth, all you knew of your former lover was that he had taken back his homeland, and now a great battle of five armies was in progress. While it would have been easy for you to stay in bed and not eat in favor of worrying yourself sick about Thorin day and night, you knew your heart and body couldn't take it. Not this time - not anymore. You would always mourn his absence in your life, but you could not wallow in it. 

You simply ordered yourself to live, and that included taking over management of the trading post and the forge, caring for Thorin's people who hadn't traveled with him, and marrying the sweet, gentle-hearted Bryn.

You were at your final fitting at the dressmaker’s, taking note of all the alterations and new detailing of your wedding dress in the mirror in the front of the shop, when Bryn walked in. 

He knew that was a no-no.

“You can’t see me in my dress yet!” you cried. The dressmaker hurried to hide you with another dress.

Bryn didn’t seem to care. In fact, the grave look on his face told you that he had a greater concern on his mind than the bad luck associated with seeing you in your wedding dress before the ceremony. 

You whispered to the dressmaker to give you and Bryn some privacy, and she obliged. Bryn sat on a wooden chair and you stood in front of him.

“What is it?” you asked. 

He let out a shaky breath. 

“I have received news of Thorin.”

You immediately fell to your knees upon hearing his name. 

“Is he….dead?” You could hardly get the last word out without feeling dazed.

Bryn shook his head. “He is alive. He was wounded during the battle, but he is alive.”

You sighed with relief but remained on your knees. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. Bryn continued talking.

“But all is not well, my dear. He’s mad with the gold sickness. Have you heard of this?" 

You nodded, remembering Thorin mentioning it briefly, painfully, during your many long talks. But you sat frozen as you let it sink in. Thorin, mad? Even with his family's history, you couldn't even grasp that being a possibility. He was always lucid, focused, and strong around you. To lose himself to insanity sent a violent shiver down your spine.

Bryn went on to say that, according to his sources, the madness had begun to rear its ugly head when Thorin returned to Erebor. And not even surviving something as harrowing as the Battle of the Five Armies had cleansed him of his affliction. 

You listened intently and didn’t respond. But you felt a tinge of the same sadness that nearly killed you when Thorin first left. That his mind was eroded by a gold sickness was so cruelly unfair. 

Bryn looked down at his shoes, as he always did when he was at a loss for words.

"Can he be healed?" you asked, foolish hope starting to rise in your chest.

He lifted his gaze to you again.

“The healing he requires is not at Erebor. ”

“Well, I'm sure he can get the best healers in all of Arda to come to his aid,” you said softly, a tinge of bitterness in your voice. 

Bryn gave you a small smile. “He only needs one," he said. "You.”

Your hands began to shake. You finally stood up, and he did the same.

“I am to be your wife in a week's time, Bryn.”

He just stared at you for a moment before gently stroking your cheek.

"My dear. My sweet, sweet love." He shook his head once, and swallowed hard. "How could you ever truly be mine," he said , "when I still see Thorin in your eyes?" 

This time you looked down. You didn't even trying to deny it. You saw him reach into his pocket and pull out what appeared to be an itinerary, along with some other official-looking paperwork. “Beginning tomorrow at first light, you and a handmaiden will travel with a heavily armed cavalry to the Lonely Mountain. They have been paid handsomely to deliver you with the utmost care. I only wish I'd known of their existence and their services before Thorin left, so I could have sent you with him...”

Your shaking hands now rocked your whole body. “Bryn, I have business and a life here, with you. I'm happy with you." Your nostrils flared as you wrung your hands. "And besides, he didn’t want me, remember?”

“Is that what you believe?" Bryn was shocked. He had vowed not to speak to you about Thorin unless you wanted to. You never wanted to. So he was mortified to learn how to felt about the time you shared together. Even Bryn, in all his lovesickness, could see how much Thorin had adored you. It was one sure thing Bryn had in common with him.

"Of course I believe it. I was his plaything," you said flatly. "I was just a means for him to have a little fun until he left."

Bryn's brow furrowed. "That simply is not true."

You knew deep down that Bryn was right, but it hurt less to believe you meant nothing to Thorin than to think he loved you as much as he said he did, but left you without so much as a farewell.

“Thorin only feared for your safety. If his quest had failed, you would have been in the middle of it with no way out. And he didn't know if or when he could return. He thought it best to leave you here. But he always wanted you. You are his love, his queen," Bryn said. 

Even though it was from Bryn's lips, you heard Thorin so clearly. How many times had he called you that and _amralime_ \- his love - while you lay in each other's arms? And how often did you long to hear him say the words, once again? How many nights did you dream that an opportunity would come along for you to see the love of your life, your true love, one last time? 

Bryn knew how much you would always love Thorin, and now he was willing to let you go so you could be with him again. You had to go. You had to be with him again, to heal him and yourself.

Bryn lifted his eyebrows, waiting for your answer. The only thing you could think to do was throw your arms around Bryn’s neck and cry. 

“You mean the world to me,” you whispered in his ear as you sobbed. 

“And you mean everything to me.” 

He held you tight and stroked your hair, but didn’t let you linger. He needed a quick goodbye – anything else was unbearable for him.

***********************

Thanks to the speedy cavalry, the journey to Erebor wasn't nearly long as you expected it to be, but it was still arduous, with varying swings in weather and dangers. Your group faced bandits, Orcs, escaped murderers and other foulness that wanted nothing more than to steal money and toss your carcasses to the dirt. But the warriors you traveled with were skilled, alert, kind, and resourceful. And although you felt the handmaiden was unnecessary, you were grateful for the companionship. 

With the exception of leaving Bryn -- who had become not only your fiancé but your cherished friend -- it was not hard for you to leave your old life behind. Even bidding farewell to your sweet little stone house was easier than you thought it would be. During your final walk through it, you breathed in all the memories and tucked them into your heart, where they would always stay. But the future you hoped to have with Thorin wasn’t there.

It was raining the evening you finally arrived before the great gates to the kingdom of Erebor. You and your handmaiden had been in a covered carriage for most of the trip, but on this day the rain seemed to find a way in no matter what. You were drenched from head to toe as you waited for your traveling companions to speak with the guards about your arrival and your wish to speak with the King.

“He has no such appointment,” you heard a guard say. “And he is quite indisposed.”

The leader of the cavalry presented the guard with a sheet of paper and pointed to all the traveling baggage. 

You were soon you were let in, and given towels to dry up with. 

“What was that?” you asked the leader quietly as you patted your face and took in the wondrous, but dimly-lit, kingdom. You welcomed the dryness and warmth, but sensed something menacing there. Things were too quiet for a place that was supposed to be bustling, and there was a strong metallic scent in the air. 

“An order for very rare and expensive tapestry fabrics, personally requested by the King.”

You didn’t understand. “Huh?” The plan all along was to convince the guards to let you see Thorin, no matter how long it took. 

The leader whispered, “It’s a forged document, my lady – Master Bryn’s idea. He didn't think we could talk our way in." He nodded toward the gathering of guards nearby, who were looking at you. "I told them you are the one the King needs to speak to.” 

You nodded and smiled, trying not to give anything away to the watchful guards. One of them pointed at you, then bent his finger and beckoned you to him. You approached, feeling incredibly nervous. He said he would take you to King Thorin.

The first thing you noticed when you entered the grand meeting chamber was Thorin’s hair. It was longer than you’d ever seen it, grayer, and straggly. Adorned in a black tunic trimmed in gold, dark trousers and a large pelt, he was hunched over a map, his back to you, weaving a coin in out of his thick fingers. 

The guard announced the arrival of the tapestry merchant, and Thorin just grunted. 

The guard left, and you were finally alone with him. Your heart leaped in your chest. You wanted to run to him, but he began speaking before you could move.

“Kings have people to order their tapestry fabrics, people to meet with tapestry merchants, and people to hang the tapestries,” he said gruffly, still not turning around. “I only agreed to let you in here to tell you personally that if this is yet another trick to have a healer examine me, you may leave and never return. Nothing ails me. I require no assistance, from you or anyone else.”

His voice was strained and ragged. He was so distant, so cold. Nothing like the warm lover who treated you so wonderfully.

“Well, then," you said, "tell me, what else may I do for you this evening, my King?”

He didn’t move. For a moment, you wondered if he heard you. He was as still as a statue.

Then he slowly turned around, as if he were afraid that you would disappear if he faced you too quickly. The coin slipped from his fingers and bounced to the ground. 

In a very low voice, he said to himself, “I am dreaming."

Overjoyed to finally see his face, still so handsome despite being weathered from age, battle and gold sickness, you took a deep breath and started walking toward him. 

“What may I do for you, King Thorin? Repair your bedposts? Make you some beef stew? Bring you a comforter? Hold and love you through the night?”

With every suggestion you threw out, Thorin took a hobbled step in your direction, the result of his war injury. But it did not slow him down.

When you were within inches of him, he reached for you with both hands and knocked your body against his in a tight, protective embrace. His chest heaving, all he could do for several seconds was just look at you, disbelief on his face.

“Hello, my love.” That’s all you could manage to say as the tears flooded your eyes. 

Thorin leaned in and kissed you with the most desperate, consuming kiss he had ever given you. No other kiss, not even in the fiery heat of your passion in the stone house, could compare to the need you felt in that instant, and you returned it with the same longing. 

When he broke the kiss, he looked at you again, his entire countenance so different than just a few seconds before. You could have sworn he looked just a bit younger, more alive. He was no longer aloof and annoyed, but approachable and welcoming. The gold sickness had taken such a toll on him: it outlined his face, his body, his spirit. But as he held you in his arms, you felt him acquiesce to the deep love he still had for you, the love that never died.

"Those bedposts must really need repairing," you teased.

He tilted his head back and laughed, the most hearty laugh you'd ever heard from him. Then he smiled at you. 

“My bedposts are made of stone, my lady. They can withstand anything.”

You immediately recognized the passion in his eyes, and blushed as he brought you close again. Soon his face was stained with his own tears -- the first you'd seen from his beautiful blue eyes -- which you wiped away. 

"Without you..." he started, his voice low. "I have lost myself..." 

“Don’t cry,” you whispered. "I am here, and I am going to help you. I am going to be so good to you...”


End file.
